


Interlude

by CirillaShepard



Series: Solipsism [5]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Freeform, Implied Smut, No Dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirillaShepard/pseuds/CirillaShepard
Summary: When a memory feels as real as life, it's as valid as life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER**  
> I do not own anything from the Mass Effect game series (unfortunately) but BioWare does.  
> Damn them.  
> I’m just borrowing their characters for fun when my muse grabs me.  
> ____________  
> This was originally written as a Christmas piece so please excuse me for posting it in September but I wanted to post these in the order I wrote them!!  
> ____________  
> Come and say "hi" to me on [Tumblr!](http://www.memoryandthought.tumblr.com)

The smell of something woody and earthy lingering in the air, intoxicating and enticing; tiny flares of fire from short, fat candles sparking and flickering in a slow dance.  
  
The clink of glass, a hushed toast; a smile shared like a great secret and a sip of deep, fruity wine; warmed and spiced that tastes so much like Christina Rossetti’s forbidden fruits.  
  
The silence that follows, rich with meaning and words unsaid; eyes meeting and unspoken promises made.  
  
The shy smile, a gift given; pretty paper, ribbons and bows all rustling and crinkling like whispers in the dark.  
  
The soft exclamation of excitement, murmured thanks and appreciation; candlelight reflecting in the faceted cut of the rare crystal nestled safely inside silk and wood, refracting and casting light like a kaleidoscope rainbow against the walls.  
  
The touch of a hand, the glance upwards towards the small bough of green and white; the question and the answer readily given.  
  
The brush of lips, soft and slow; then deeper and passion takes over, an overload to the senses.  
  
The feel of skin, the movements surging like the sea; breaths that become one; desire and love inhaled and exhaled in unison.  
  
The sigh, the tightening of the embrace and the slow descent down from a high only obtained from this most sybaritic of meetings.  
  
The dwindling candlelight, the winking and shimmering of the stars and nebulas above and the smell of something woody and earthy lulling us to sleep.  



End file.
